Yes, it’s a picture of a wall. Wherefore, ‘Arris, are you blogging a picture of a wall? Well, all yous young things, this is what age feels like. Sometimes.
There’s a bit in AbFab where Edina is pretending to cry to keep Saffy happy. ‘Squish, squish, darling’. Such are the emotions of some when reading sentences like the one above. Squish, squish. You may well be one of those noble and dauntless individuals who are in the process of bending the entire world into the shape they want it to be, by next Tuesday at the latest.
Well, it don’t last. Though you probably knew that. What you can and can’t do kind of shrinks. Yesterday, on a visit to Taunton Hospital where a lady saw me in my knickers for the first time in many a moon – she didn’t run out screeching, but then she was a Medical Person – the spread of arthritis to my back as well as my knees and hands was confirmed. Squish, squish. Ten years down the line, I shall probably be stiff-limbing my way around the place like a kind of geriatric Pinocchio (fairy tale, look it up).
So my Writing Short Fiction site, on which I have lavished so much time and thought, is up for a new kind owner if such a creature is out there, altruistic, informed and benevolent, and if no-one appears to give it a new regeneration like a literary Dr Who, I will probably finish up colonising it, or at least the bits of it what I wrote, onto my own site at little old http://www.bruceharris.org. All in the public interest. Put my OBE in the post, David, when you’ve put that damn pig down for ten seconds.
So hold up on the squish squishes. http://www.bruceharris.org is still here and still going strong, even if its daddy is getting a little creaky here and there. Do please visit. It will be super to see you. And remember, he says, with quiet and subtle allegory, walls is for climbing over.